


From Your Lips To Mine

by SashaDistan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Amputee Shiro (Voltron), Boys Kissing, Confident Keith (Voltron), Fluff, Flustered Shiro (Voltron), Galra Shiro (Voltron), Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) was Raised by the Blade of Marmora, M/M, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Possessive Behavior, Purring Keith (Voltron), Size Difference, The Pocky Game, sharing food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SashaDistan/pseuds/SashaDistan
Summary: When Shiro is rescued by the Blade of Marmora, he is grateful to be alive, healed, fed, clean.But then there is Keith, and everything else the Blade of Marmora have given him pales in comparison to his friendship with the littlest Blade.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 230





	From Your Lips To Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ayra_isaac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayra_isaac/gifts).



> Wolf Den Holiday Exchange 2020, for Ayra, and based upon their wonderful and adorable art [HERE](https://twitter.com/AyraIsaacArt/status/1328829344769339396?s=20) on twitter.

Getting rescued by the Blade of Marmora is absolutely the best thing that could have happened to Shiro, especially since the other option was death. Growing up on a colony ship, he and every other young Galra had lived in either awe or terror of being called into the service of the empire. Shiro knew the moment one of Zarkon’s generals saw him, that he would be picked up, because he is big and imposing and people always seem to think that means he likes fighting.

Shiro does not like fighting. He likes flying and exploring, and he has a green thumb and a soft spot for growing plants.

Or, he did have a green thumb. He’s not sure if his left hand is going to be as good. Not that there seem to be any plants on the Marmora base.

After rising to the very pinnacle of Zarkon’s arena before getting his arm damaged irreparably by a fun pre-match cell visit from a pissed off Sendak, Shiro was actually surprised to have his wound laser cauterised before he was thrown back in his cell. Sendak was still nursing a bruised ego from losing a fight and an eye the previous phoeb, and though everyone knew Shiro would have never lost to him in a fair match, his time as Champion of the arena was over. No one was going to bet on a fighter with one only arm. Someone in the medical ward had shot a local anaesthetic into his neck, and he supposed he was grateful for that small mercy. Shiro didn’t try and convince himself the good treatment would last though, because everyone knew that the rumours of the witch Haggar’s vivisection were more than rumours.

But it didn’t happen.

Shiro wasn’t quite certain of the sequence of events, but he’d been in his cell, curved dejectedly over the remaining stump of his right arm, and then there had been explosions, shouting, a masked figure fighting with a droid guard, and Shiro had just stood up and gone to help him. More fighting, a sword had been pushed into his left hand, and Shiro wasn’t good with his non-dominant hand but it had been enough. And then they had been escaping in a tiny fighter craft, his masked friend swooping and flying around debris, enemy ships, and projectiles. Shiro had clung to the back of the pilot’s chair and watched through the rear portal as a series of planted bombs obliterated much of the ship where he had been forced to kill people in order to remain alive.

“Thank you,” he’d managed, and then blacked out.

Of course, Shiro thinks ruefully as he sits on the floor at the edge of the main common room on the Marmora base, watching his new comrades come and go, he isn’t really a Blade. Not like the others. Kolivan won’t let him take the Trial, and he can’t exactly train at the same level as someone like Thace – to whom he is similarly built – because he’s still only passable at self-defence with his left arm. The residual limb of his right – now healed after a surgery to repair it properly – still twinges with phantom nerve pain at unexpected moments.

But he’s clean and fed, and the bed in his room is genuinely comfortable, so Shiro is grateful.

“Hey!”

Shiro feels his chest swell at the greeting.

He’s clean and fed and the bed is good, but then there is _Keith_ , and everything else the Blade of Marmora have given him pales in comparison to his friendship with the littlest Blade.

And there he is, dressed down in his skin tight xylon undersuit, strolling across the common room like sitting with Shiro is absolutely preferable than sharing more comfortable seating with any number of other Galra who look at him like he hung the stars. Back on Zarkon’s ship, Shiro had been aware enough to realise that the person he was fighting beside was smaller than him, but it wasn’t until he’d seen Keith walking side by side with Kolivan that Shiro had realised precisely _how_ small. And then Keith had tugged back his hood and mask to reveal incredible pretty and extremely alien features, and Shiro has barely been able to look away since.

“Keith to Shiro? Bud, you OK-?”

Shiro practically jolts at the contact of Keith’s boot against his shin, but he smiles to try and cover the fact he just zoned out because he was thinking in far too much detail about the creamy pale whiteness of Keith’s skin and the gorgeous curve of his pretty pink lips. Kolivan’s crimson markings do not count, and pink is a rare colour in space. It’s no wonder Keith attracts attention everywhere he goes. He’s slick and fast and supremely talented and- Shiro’s zoning out again, Keith is still holding out a small package to him, his lips tilted into a little smirk.

“Here.”

Shiro takes the box. It is barely half the size of his palm and is covered in unfamiliar alien pictograms.

“Thank you,” he says seriously, unsure of what he is supposed to do with this tiny item but more than willing to cherish it regardless. To his surprise, Keith drops down in the space between Shiro’s bent leg and the curve of his tail and plucks the box back out of his hand, giving it a little shake – it rattles – before he tears the top open. “Oh.”

“It’s food, Shiro.” Keith hands the box back before he leans in. He is too far from the wall for that slump to be comfortable, and Shiro very deliberately does not startle when Keith’s weight presses into his right side. The boy fits snugly against his ribs, the top of his head barely brushing the remainder of Shiro’s severed bicep. “Earth candy. Try one.”

Shiro is certain that his heart has stopped in his chest – except that doesn’t explain the extraordinary whooshing of his pulse in his ears – because why else has he frozen, unable to comprehend that Keith – smart, gorgeous, wickedly deadly Keith with his violet eyes and perfect spill of inky hair – is giving him presents from his homeworld?

Earth is not a planet with a big intergalactic presence, and humans aren’t really seen outside of their galaxy. But Keith is different – Keith isn’t all human to start with – and Shiro has never met anyone as well travelled as the boy raised by the Blade of Marmora. The fact that he has managed to get Earth candy all the way out here means that Keith is as dedicated to his snacking as he is to everything else. It’s not a surprise really, but the fact he wants to share it with Shiro has the big Galra’s head spinning.

“Here, Shiro.”

Keith holds out for him a single stick of what smells like biscuit, much of it coated in a rich brown substance which Shiro recognises as being similar to _czklada,_ but sweeter. Keith has eaten whole bars of it before, apparently without ill effect. Shiro takes the proffered snack with two careful fingers, trying to control the urge to wrap his tail around Keith’s tiny waist. The boy is sitting so close to him, and Shiro can feel his body heat between them.

“The chocolate is gonna melt into your fur if you hold it like that,” Keith quips as he takes his own stick and bites the end of with a viciously sexy snap of his flat teeth. “They’re called Pocky. There are lots of flavours, but the original is the best one.”

Shiro blinks, staring at the tiny Pocky stick in his hand. Keith is sharing rare food with _him_. Him, Shiro, a one-armed former arena fighter raised on a colony ship in the middle of the black. All Shiro’s ever had going for him which was of any use, was that he was quick in a ship and good enough with a weapon to not die in the arena. And now he can’t even do that.

“Thank you,” he says solemnly.

“It’s just Pocky bud. Of course I’d share with you.”

But Keith is offering him food, sitting right up against him like Shiro is good enough to protect him whilst he indulges in his snacks, and Shiro’s heart feels full. They have been friends only a few phoebs, but Keith has been there – hanging around in Shiro’s view and asking after his moods – pretty much since the tic Shiro recovered from passing out. He smiles down at the top of the boy’s head, staring at the space where his hair parts to expose the soft, fine skin of the back of his neck. The release seal for the under suit is right there, and Shiro is seized by the fervent desire to see what the rest of Keith looks like.

“Shiro? Don’t you want to try-?”

Oh shit! Keith thinks Shiro is rejecting his offering. With too much haste, Shiro shoves the candy in his mouth, poking himself in his soft palette and then fighting a cough as he inhales crumbs. He winces, folding his ears back against the short shorn sides of his hair. Like he could be any more useless. He can barely even feed himself.

“Easy there, bud.” Keith’s hand rests over his sternum, rubbing small warm circles in the centre of his chest, and it distracts all of Shiro’s attention. “Please, if I kill you with Pocky, I could never live with myself.”

Shiro gulps, and tries to brush crumbs from his fur. Keith snorts in a charming manner.

“You’ve got chocolate on your jaw. Here, hang on.”

The smallest Blade shifts up onto his knees and brushes his delicate fingers over Shiro’s chin. Shiro freezes.

“Much better.” Keith settles back on his heels, and Shiro realises the boy has moved, and now kneels between Shiro’s parted thighs. Automatically, Shiro’s purple tuft-tipped tail curves around behind him, not touching, but clearly marking the space in which Keith resides as Shiro’s. “Would you like another one?”

Shiro feels himself blush – the fur on his ears puffs out, but his purple tones are too dark to really show it otherwise – and nods.

“Yes please, Keith.”

Keith draws two more sticks from the packet – holding them by the ends not covered in _czklada –_ but then slides one back again. He bites his lip, the plump pink flesh bleaching under the pressure before springing back as he smiles.

“There’s a game you play with Pocky. Well, kind of a game. You wanna play, Shiro?”

Shiro isn’t sure he trusts himself to speak, so he nods enthusiastically.

Keith leans up, balancing his meagre weight with a hand on Shiro’s thigh, and places the end of the Pocky stick between his lips. And then his other hand comes down to cover Shiro’s own where it rests in his lap, and Shiro can’t get over the fact that Keith is leaning on him, practically kneeling in his lap, and his face is so close that Shiro can see the nebula swirls in his unusual purple eyes.

“You take it wiff your lipfff,” Keith says, inelegantly. “ffharing.”

Shiro is incredibly glad Keith can’t see his blush.

He leans in, eyes nearly crossing as he tries to focus on the end of the stick shaped snack and holds the other end with his fangs. Their faces are incredibly close together now, and Keith’s breath is moist against his fur as his eyes flutter closed.

And then Keith bites, leaning forward, and breaks the Pocky stick and the motion ends with Keith’s lips pressed against his own as both his hands move up to rest on Shiro’s chest. Shiro is fairly certain his has ascended to another plane of existence, his soul leaving his body to look down upon the situation and reflect on how lucky he is to have the most talented, wonderful, beautiful Blade of Marmora kneeling between his legs, pressing against him.

Keith’s tongue swipes over Shiro’s lips, and Shiro shivers all over.

He’s not seen other Galra do this in many deca-phoebs, because there aren’t a lot of mated pairs in the service of the empire, and those that are probably hide themselves. But Shiro has seen Thace and Ulaz feeding each other and sharing soft licks in quiet moments. This is something mates do.

But Keith is _Keith_ , and he can’t possibly want to mate with Shiro. But he hasn’t moved away, his tongue pressing softly at the seam between Shiro’s lips, and Shiro decides he’s done with being careful.

He moves his hand, tracing up the back of Keith’s thigh, over the sweet, plump swell of his ass, dipping into the curve of his spine before coming to rest over his shoulders. He can feel the way Keith presses into the contact. Keith could throw him across the room if he wanted. He can throw Kolivan after all. Keith wants this.

Shiro smiles, and licks a bold stripe across the boy’s chin and mouth.

Keith _giggles_. It is most strange in an intimate moment, but the sound bubbling out of him against Shiro’s fur makes Shiro feel light too. He smiles.

“Shiro,” Keith breathes against him. “I don’t have chocolate on _my_ face.”

Oh. Oh… of course it’s not a thing that mates do. Keith is partly human after all, he obviously doesn’t share all the instincts which come so easily to other Galr-

Shiro’s train of thought is thoroughly derailed when Keith wraps a hand around the back of his neck and kisses him. Shiro growls into the contact, and then the box of Pocky sticks clatters from his thigh to the floor as he pulls Keith firmly up against his front. And Keith moans softly, pressing deeper into the kiss.

The sound of approaching footsteps has the hackles on the back of Shiro’s neck rising. As one, both he and Keith turn to find another Blade – Regris – approaching them. His long tail looping and curling behind him, two drinks in hand, one of which is Keith’s favoured juniberry and peach flavour with the little pearls in it.

Shiro only realises he’s snarling when Keith turns to look at up him with dazzling eyes and a pleased smile.

“My Shiro…” he murmurs happily, and Shiro’s snarl morphs into a rumbling growl of pride. His tail wraps possessively around Keith’s narrow waist, pulling him closer even as Shiro tenses, bracing and ready to fight off a potential challenger to his claim. But there’s no need, because Keith’s hands are sliding around the back of his neck again, thumbs rubbing through his furry ears. Keith is flushed and warm and Shiro cannot look away. “Sorry Regris, but no-” Keith speaks without ever breaking Shiro’s gaze, “-I am not free for a drink with you now, tomorrow, or in fact, ever.”

“Mine,” Shiro says, unsure if he’s supposed to make it a question. The way Keith presses into him assures him he was right to state it as a fact.

“Yes, Shiro. Yours.”

Regris backs himself away from their position, staring at some nondescript point on the wall above Shiro’s head. Shiro only notices him leave because his natural instincts to fight and protect his mate slackens into just the ever constant desire to please his mate, and his eyes slide shut as Keith kisses him again.

“We on the same page now?” the boy asks him as they break for oxygen.

“Yes, Keith.”

“You still have chocolate on your chin.” Keith dips to lick again the candy from his fur. Shiro vibrates with pleasure. “Oh… you like that?”

“Absolutely.”

Keith appears to think on this, then his thumb is smearing across Shiro’s lower lip, his tongue following it, and by the time he touches Shiro’s teeth, Shiro is _gone_. The form fitting undersuit does a very poor job at disguising the effect this has on Shiro, and Keith makes a wordless, deeply pleased grunt as he presses his thigh against the hardness he finds between Shiro’s legs.

“Say it again.”

“Mine,” Shiro declares, Keith’s fingers still playing with his fangs.

“Yes. Yours.”

One of Keith’s hands sneaks between them, and he purrs. Shiro did not know Keith could purr.

“You like that too.”

“Oh, _yes…_ ”

“You know,” Keith says in a conversational tone, “I bet I could still purr with my mouth full.”

Shiro can’t help but grin. That sounds like a challenge. He wonders how much Keith could take before he had to stop purring in order to just breathe.

“I have a really big bed, Shiro.”

“And you’re little.”

“Yup.” Keith pops his lips, the mimicry of a kiss, and grins. “Plenty of space for you.”

Shiro has never stood up faster, tail swinging wide for balance as he hoists Keith up with his one arm. The littlest blade’s legs wrap tight around his waist, and he really is _so_ little. Keith laughs with happiness, and holds on tight, one hand returning to stroke over Shiro’s neck and his tufted ear.

“Mine.”

Getting rescued by the Blade of Marmora is the second best thing that could have happened to Shiro.

Getting rescued by Keith; that’s the very best.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come chat with us on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SashaDistan)
> 
> This author responds to comments.
> 
> Thank you to the incredible [Lole](https://twitter.com/@leandralena) for being an awesome beta reader.


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